


A Lady of Means

by ancarett



Category: Arabella - Georgette Heyer
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Stolen Moments, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 00:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8868868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancarett/pseuds/ancarett
Summary: The famous heiress, Arabella, several years into her happy marriage, shares some lessons on property and propriety.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salable_mystic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/gifts).



The Dowager Duchess of Wigan passed away in the summer of 1824. She was much mourned by her numerous relatives, although, to be honest, her strait-laced daughter-in-law, the Duchess, was more pro forma in her grieving than the rest of the relations. That was understandable, given the many years the younger woman had suffered disappointment in her hopes to be in possession of the ducal plate and other family treasures that her husband's mother had retained. Still, seven surviving children and their spouses, more than a score of grandchildren along with their spouses and even a great many great grandchildren came to the dowager's interment, to be followed by the reading of her will. Among the many mourners, and likely the most sincere of those marking the great lady's passing, were her favourite grandson, Mr. Robert Beaumaris, and his wife, Arabella.

Arabella Beaumaris, née Tallant, was, at three-and-twenty, the toast of the _bon ton_ as well as the much-loved wife to one of England's richest men. The life that she now called her own was a far cry from her modest upbringing in the Reverend Tallant's crowded, somewhat shabby Vicarage, but only a few knew the true circumstances of her impoverished origins. Most of society still believed Arabella Beaumaris to have been the impossibly fortunate beneficiary of a doting uncle, a tale she had spun out of pique on her long road to her London debut and had never thought would spread. Only a few had been privy to the truth of her straitened circumstances and that included Robert's grandmother. A terror to many, the dowager had been a true friend to Arabella since she had first come to visit the grand dame at her Wimbledon property as Robert's affianced bride. Now, as their carriage rolled up the driveway to the duke's residence, following the service at the family's grand chapel, Arabella reached out her black-gloved hand to gently grasp one of her husband's.

"It was a lovely service," Arabella murmured as she gazed down at their clasped hands.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Robert chided, causing her regard to lift, meeting his steady gray eyes. "My grandmother would have been the first to call out the reverend father for his ludicrous claims. 'A saintly life!' "The soul of an angel!' You know I loved my grandmother dearly but a saint she never was, nor an angel. A witty woman with a taste for Spanish wine and countless other indulgences, I'll grant you."

Arabella chuckled at her husband's spot-on mimicry of the lofty rhetoric spoken at the interment. "Now, Robert, remember that your grandmother and I did a great deal for the fallen women of London, beginning with Leaky Peg who is now so happy managing the tavern back in her home village, thanks to all the training she received through your grandmother's benevolence. The duchess was always so encouraging of my causes and we have so many young orphans starting at the school she helped me to organize!"

"Indeed," Robert Beaumaris said, his gray eyes softening as he watched her endless enthusiasm for the charities she championed. "But had she been alive, my grandmother would have laid him up one side and down the other for his assassination of her character, I'm certain."

Arabella bit her lip, hoping to hide the smile that she knew was entirely inappropriate for such a solemn day but, she could not help it. Robert was so droll, and she knew his teasing was more to drive away his own doldrums at his grandmother's passing than anything else. Finally, she settled for something that bridged the gap between his truths and her need for kindness. "I will concede that his words sounded nothing like her. But he meant well!"

"Always looking for the good in things and people," Robert said, tightening his fingers around hers as their carriage pulled up to the grand entrance of the mansion festooned in black mourning wreathes and draperies, with other of the extended family milling about as they jostled for position to enter the residence. "I hope that you can keep this up as the reading of the will comes next."

"I do not see why I have to be present. This is something for family," Arabella protested as they exited the carriage. "Anyway, Robert, I thought we were quite beyond the stage in our marriage where you ordered me around as you wished!"

From his perch beside the coachman, Ulysses issued a peremptory bark and Robert laughed heartily. "Your champion adds his voice to yours. Fortunately for my assembled relatives, his dislike of the them is enough to keep him from following us inside and continuing his oration."

From his perch at the back of the coach, Jemmy the former climbing boy winked ostentatiously at his mistress. "Ne'er worry, ma'am. We'll keep Ulysses in line!"

The coachman snapped the reins lightly and the matched bays briskly trotted along the crushed gravel drive towards the stables, where servants and horses alike would await their summons for a return trip home. None of the party desired to overnight with the most officious members of Robert's extended family.

Robert shot a wry glance his wife's way as they moved past the footmen, up the stairs towards the gaggle of cousins and slightly more distant relatives cluttering up Wigan's home for the occasion, leaning in to quietly add. "You are quite right that we are past that stage, my dear. I would no more attempt to order you around than I would Ulysses. However, it is not I who am requiring you to attend the reading of the will. It was my grandmother's request, her express request, or so I have been informed."

"Well, in that case I will honour it, however strange a demand it might be," Arabella conceded as she let her husband lead her into the saloon where servants had arranged several extra chairs. The Duke and Duchess were there, along with his brothers and their sons. Lady Caroline, the duke's unmarried sister who had long served as her mother's unpaid and unappreciated companion, exchanged a subdued greeting with Robert and Arabella. A few others made their way into the room before the dowager's man of business, standing unobtrusively beside the desk, cleared his throat apologetically and gestured towards the footmen who silently closed the room doors.

"If you would take your seats, your graces, my lords and all honoured guests, I will be able to read through the dowager duchess of Wigan's final will and testament," Mr. Everton said, unfurling the document and peering down through his spectacles at the words before him.

The will opened with the conventional wishes for the salvation of the duchess' soul, just as saccharine and uncharacteristic as the funeral panegyrics had been a short while earlier. Arabella spotted the duchess delicately blotting at her eyes with a fine lawn handkerchief ostentatiously trimmed with black lace: a mourning accessory she would never have thought to acquire, and filed the mental image away for her next letter to her fashion-mad sister Sophie, recently married to the Honourable Teddy Snodgrass and always eager for news of the latest London styles.

Arabella might have let her attention continue to drift but an excited gasp from the room caused her attention to refocus on the bequests. "The lost Wigan diamonds, having been recovered at my own personal expense and arduous efforts after my late husband had gambled them away in a drunken haze and then compounded his crime by telling one and all that he had been robbed by footpads, I bequeath to my eldest son, David, on the understanding that he will not be as feckless as his father and that he support all of the other terms of this last will and testament. Should he not, the diamonds are to be sold and the proceeds spent on a memorial statue in my name to be erected in my late husband's honour."

Excited looks were exchanged by many in the room. The duchess appeared to be emanating real tears now, presumably of rapture at the restoration of these family treasures that she would soon be able to parade before the admiring ton. Robert, Arabella noticed, didn't blink an eye or show any surprise at the jewels' existence and how they were disposed of in the will. She suspected that he had played a significant role in their discovery and recovery, given that the dowager had been mostly confined to her Wimbledon residence these past several years. Lady Caroline almost tumbled from her seat beside Arabella as she confided in the younger woman, "What a surprising condition! Why, she could never stand to speak of Papa and swore he had left legacies enough with his spendthrift projects such as the Gothic folly."

The stolid man of law snuck a quick look over the metal frame of his reading glasses before returning to the page. "If I may continue?"

At the duke's genial nod, he proceeded. "He also receiving my estate at Wimbledon and all of its contents, including the many furnishings which I have added to create a modicum of comfort and the ducal plate which I also purchased out of my own jointure yet which he and his wife have long coveted, I am pleased to make three further bequests comprising my unencumbered holdings. To my remaining sons and daughters, I bestow ten thousand pounds each that they may endeavour to remember me for a few days hence. To my daughter Caroline, in addition, I give the lifetime use of my property in Bath and an income of two thousand per annum, on the strict condition that she not knit another scarf or hat as the continual clacking of her needles quite likely drove me to an early grave."

At this, Lady Caroline gasped excitedly, her ever-present ball of yarn bouncing out of her lap with the needles tumbling after. Arabella reached over to gather up the discarded knitting but hesitated from passing them back to Robert's overset aunt, instead contenting herself with setting them aside on one of the ormolu tables cluttering the room to await the reading of what she devoutly hoped would be the final clause of the dowager's will. Home beckoned, a far more comfortable proposition than this ornate venue crowded with Robert's extended family.

Mr. Everton took a deep breath and lifted his eyes heavenwards, as if attempting to draw strength, before proceeding. "With the remainder of my personal wealth, I have established a trust to be administered under the direction of my beloved granddaughter by marriage, Arabella Beaumaris, who has been a bright light in my life since her marriage to Robert. She has sole discretion as to how the trust's income is spent and, should she have the misfortune to be widowed, the entirety of the bequest is to be made available for her to manage as she sees fit."

Every eye in the room swivelled to regard Arabella, that is, with the exceptions of her husband, who blandly regarded his many relatives with superior unconcern and Mr. Everton who cleared his throat as he rearranged the papers he held. Murmurs arose to an outraged but muted roar. "But she is not even a blood relative," the duke's youngest brother protested. "Shocking bad form!"

"Is that even legal?" The duke's question hung in the suddenly silent air as he arose, every black-clad inch of his not inconsiderable figure quivering with the effort. "I mean, this bequest? Young cousin Arabella is a married woman, after all. Any property she inherits would be Robert's after all. So, certainly, these terms cannot hold."

The duchess sniffed her long, thin nose. "And he has no need of that in any case, being rich as the Golden Ball. It is a bit of mischief on your mother's part, I declare!"

Mr. Everton bristled, his perpetually-stooped shoulders pulling back in sudden indignation. "I assure you, the terms of this document are entirely legal."

"Indeed they are," Robert commented with all appearances of geniality as he took up Arabella's hand in his. "My grandmother was always aware of the legal niceties regarding women's property, particularly as my grandfather had done so much to try and waste her dowry."

He swiveled slightly in his seat to catch his uncle's eye. "In any case, Uncle David, do you not want the will to stand. Her Grace performed our family the great, the inestimable service of restoring the long-lost Wigan diamonds to the fold. And, if you recall the terms of this will, any challenge to the bequests would put your enjoyment of those gems at risk. But, ah, your father's memory would be greatly enhanced with a fine statue, would it not?"

At the wrinkling of the duke's long face and the blanched white complexion of the duchess's own mien, it appeared that that they had not registered that outcome should the trust be challenged. "David," his wife whispered harshly, "the Wigan diamonds! I must have them. And the ducal plate, at last! We cannot risk it!"

Slowly, ponderously, the duke nodded in reluctant agreement.

Triumphant at the thought she would soon rightfully be mistress of the duchy's great treasures, the Duchess smiled with sickening sweetness and inclined her head slightly towards Arabella. "Why, I know that we are charmed that the dowager, in her declining years, found such support from Arabella, the famous heiress! So unusual! So outspoken! I suppose it was your fondness for such _interesting_ causes that inspired this legacy on her part. Climbing boys, mongrels and maids, of a sort!"

At the condescending remarks, Arabella's perfectly arched eyebrows rose high on her forehead. Young, she might still be at not quite four-and-twenty, but she was not a simpleton, to misunderstand the insult lobbed her way. It was reminiscent of when the carriage accident had stranded her and Miss Blackburn at Robert's hunting-box, and overhearing his expectations that she was a shameless fortune-hunter, Arabella had been inspired to proclaim herself a great heiress in order to spite his expectations and started the entire comedy of errors that had ended in her marriage. Perhaps this might be another such occasion, she mused, but she had to speak now, before her courage left her or her over-protective husband intervened.

Arabella smiled sweetly at her crepe-draped hostess, taking comfort from Robert's presence close beside her while other of the ducal family watched the conflict playing out before them. "Why, Your Grace, perhaps it simply was that my husband's dear grandmother knew she could trust me, as a famous heiress, as you say, to be above petty considerations about money. It would be so difficult if one's family were greedy or grasping, don't you think?"

It was intriguing to see how quickly a white aristocratic face flushed red, Arabella noticed. Lady Caroline's slightly muffled giggle inspired an almost-irresistible temptation to break out into hysterics, but others of the family belatedly intervened, drawing attention away from the battle lines.

"Come along," Robert suggested. "Let us make our escape, unless you have some further volleys to let loose, my little general?"

Still somewhat shocked at her own audacity and well aware that she would be persona non grata at Wigan for many years to come, Arabella swiftly followed her husband's lead. "Do we need to make our farewells, do you think?"

"My dear Arabella, I believe we have burned our bridges. But it was magnificently done," her husband advised as he signalled the footmen to organize their departure.

"It was, wasn't it?" She accepted her black-trimmed hat with a smiling nod to the footman and than Robert's arm as they stepped out to their hastily summoned carriage. Once they were both inside, Arabella winnowed her way under Robert's arm, taking and offering comfort in his warm embrace.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, wiping a bit at the tears that threatened to spill now that the rush of indignation had passed.

"Why ever are you apologizing, my darling? You have known since you married me that most of my family are pure rubbish. At least we do not live three centuries ago or more when ducal displeasure was a more serious concern. We shall not be off to the Tower or tossed down an oubliette because Aunt Julia is in a tizzy with us," Robert teased, running his thumb over her cheek as he shifted sideways in the carriage seat. Without Arabella much noticing, he deposited their hats on the seat opposite as the carriage smoothly rolled along the long tree-shaded boulevard.

"True. But, be honest, Robert. Did you know of this legacy? We did not have time to speak with Mr. Everton, but what is involved? What am I to do?" Her brows drew together in concentration as Arabella considered the implications of the will and the enormous responsibility heaped on her shoulders.

"I had some suspicious, but nothing this far-reaching," Robert said as he lifted his wife into his lap, the better to hold her delightful form close. "At our last visit, grandmother said she had effectively disinherited me but that I'd thank her for that. I suspected she had devised some bequest for you, but nothing quite like this. Think upon it, Arabella. You shall be a grand lady indeed now, a famous heiress twice over! I expect that my grandmother is laughing even now over the great joke she's played on all of the family and all of society."

"Perhaps," Arabella said hesitantly. "But now I will have a great deal more to learn if I am to be in charge of what I expect is a vast fortune."

"Enormous," her husband agreed affably. "However, as you have been such a great success as mistress of our properties and patroness of so many charitable endeavours, I have no doubt that you will thrive in your new role. I will be able to quite retire to my study, reading Homer and keeping Ulysses company, dozing by the fire."

Arabella's eyes flashed at that joking suggestion of indolence. "If I am to be so occupied with responsibilities, you should, at the very least, find time to entertain your wife, Mr. Beaumaris."

"I had rather counted on that," he agreed, pulling her closer for a kiss.


End file.
